


Scones

by doberainbow



Series: Witcher Prompts [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Fluff, Geralt owns a farm, Gift Fic, Jaskier is broke, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining, Prompt Fic, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, University student Jaskier, abused Roach, make out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27013933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doberainbow/pseuds/doberainbow
Summary: The farmer’s lips tugged into a surprised smirk. Whoever this flamboyant plank was he had to admit that the boy had a heart.“You adopted a horse while you were drunk?” Geralt asked, and the apples of those milky cheeks turned pink as the brunet blinked at him.“Not my finest moment, I admit.”----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Jaskier is a struggling university student who drunkenly adopts an abused horse, and he meets Geralt, the grouchy man who manages the rehabilitation on his farm.Jaskier is yearning. Geralt bakes, and poor Roach is healing while these idiots fell in love.Another prompt by the awesome @Akikofuma
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971496
Comments: 53
Kudos: 415





	Scones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akikofuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akikofuma/gifts).



He blamed that woman. That evil and terrifyingly gorgeous woman. It was all Yennefer’s fault. First of all, Jaskier did not want to get drunk on a Tuesday afternoon. For God’s sake, it was three pm when Yen kicked his door open and shut the curtains, saying that if he can’t see that it’s bright outside, it doesn’t matter.

It did.

Jaskier was piss poor drunk at five, hanging off his sofa upside down. His tears were rolling down on his forehead while Yennefer giggled at his misery. He felt the woman slap his thighs when Jaskier was slowly sliding off the cushions. He ended up sitting on the floor watching the news while the woman jabbered about something Jaskier’s foggy brain couldn’t comprehend.

The reporter dressed in a fancy suit on his screen captured that tiny amount of attention he possessed. It was something about an animal farm. Jaskier tried to blink away the blurriness without any success as he listened to the news. Yen was still going on about some guy… or a girl… one of two.

They were showing videos of some abused animals. Jaskier felt his throat tighten just how it does before someone starts crying. He tried to place his chin into his palm. He missed it three times before he decided to lean his face against his coffee table.

The news reporter was asking for donations. They were asking for people to volunteer as foster parents or even adopt some of the poor souls.

Jaskier was wiping his face with his shirt while he tried to unlock his phone. Face recognition was out of the question. Not even his mother would recognise him right now. He typed in his password. His fingers felt heavy and made of raw pastry dough. It was hard to control them.

“Are you even listening?”

“Mhm. Your boss is a proper bitch, but you have to put up with her because of your career while your boyfriend is being an absolute arse, and your colleague was hit by a car, so now you have to take her place and go on this posh trip with your boss.” Jaskier mumbled while he dialled.

“What? That’s the plot of _The_ _Devil wears Prada,_ you twat. Jaskier? Who are you calling?”

“The horses.” The brunet muttered as he tried to read the phone number shown on the bottom of his telly screen.

And see, this is the point where it all became Yennefer’s fault. She just watched Jaskier with her beautiful lavender eyes to call the number. She grinned while Jaskier drunken slurs were understood by the dear lady on the other end of the line. She watched Jaskier as he scribbled down some details on the back of some letter. She even gave him a pen.

Whatever happened after that was fallen into the pitch-black darkness. Jaskier probably passed out. He woke up on his living room’s floor the next morning. His head was banging as if a whole marching band was practising under his skull. The first thing he saw was two googly eyes staring back at him.

“The fuck?” He grunted and reached for the plushie toy that was placed in front of him. It was a horse. With an overly big head, huge bug eyes, and pink fur. His phone beeped as well. The jolly chirpy noise made him wince as he read the message.

**“good morning, Horse Girl.”**

Jaskier moaned and dropped his phone somewhere on the carpet, turning on his back with the small horse toy sitting on his chest. He has to admit it; it was so ugly it became somewhat cute. Jaskier snorted and let his eyelids fell shut. The banging in his head was getting so loud, it rhythm lulled him to sleep.

“I bloody horse, Jaskier? Really? That’s what you needed? A horse? Sure. Well, after all I ate this week were cup noodles and two bottles of cheap wine, yeah, absolutely. Something I can afford. Totally. Brilliant!” Jaskier hit the steering wheel with his palms. His ancient car gave out a miserable noise, like a cry for help. I cry to be put out of its misery. “Yeah, same.” The brunet sighed as he drove on this godforsaken road in the middle of nowhere.

He was driving to this farm. To a farm because guess what? He was a horse owner. Julian ‘Jaskier’ Pankratz, who grew up in the city centre, lived his whole life between concrete and neon signs. Jaskier, who didn’t even own welly boots or plaids. He who will probably die of hay fever as soon as he steps out of his car. Jaskier, whose phone was trying to hold onto that last bar of signal like if it was a life jacket before it disappeared into the nothingness. Jaskier, who was so Gen Z he was kept warm by a computer's heat as a baby, is now headed to a bloody farm. What a joke.

The ranch was huge. One of those massive farms from movies where you can get lost for days without anyone noticing.

The horse Jaskier drunkenly adopted was placed here. He couldn’t afford the animal to stay with him in his third-floor studio flat. No, his landlord probably wouldn’t give a toss about it, but it would bother the foreign students who lived under him. After all, who could study for their finals with hoof beats above them?

So the animal was here, and Jaskier, the saint, will pay for its rehabilitation. The brunet wasn’t angry at himself. No. He knew he was doing something good. Something that he was proud of, and he wished he could safely afford to do more. But he couldn’t. Jaskier was a struggling university student who studied in the morning, worked in the afternoons, and tried to support himself with occasional gigs in pubs on the weekend.

He turned off the engine and dropped his forehead onto his hands on the steering wheel.

He should call them back and explain that he was so drunk they should have hung up on him. How he gave them his personal details correctly was a true miracle and why he called them the day after to confirm the adoption was a fucking mystery.

Jaskier shook his head. He will figure something out. He can always give up the gigs and find a better paying weekend job. Yes. He can do this. He will do this. He will pay for this horse because everyone deserves a second chance and happiness, and Jaskier will give this animal the love it needs.

He looked into the mirror and noted the fact that he looks like shite. Whatever. Not like he was trying to impress some old farmer and a few cows. He grabbed his backpack, with the horse plushie dangling on it clumsily, and he stepped out of his car. Right into a puddle of mud.

“Oh, you must be fuckin’ joking?” The pair he was wearing was his favourite pair of boots. And the only one he owned. He looked up at the sky. Blue met blue, and Jaskier held back a groan.

The farm was old but well taken care of. The grass was short and perfectly cut. The patched fence looked strong and freshly painted. The huge sign was clean and cob-web free. Jaskier was impressed, even if his socks were uncomfortably wet and cold.

He ruffled his already messy hair and walked towards the front door. It seemed like a small office building, a receptions house maybe for visitors, but Jaskier saw in the distance the many stables and a huge, robust house on the horizon. So whoever was taking care of the animals was living here as well.

Jaskier rang the bell next to the door and stood back to look around.

The air was awfully fresh here. His smog filled lungs were fervently gulping down the oxygen like it was some cleansing diet. He felt his body being purified by just the crispiness of the air, the moist grass under his boots, the chilly wind on his cheeks that left him permanently blushed while he was here. It wasn’t too bad, he decided. He could smell the pine trees and the wood that the house was made from. It was rather lovely.

Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Unaware of the approaching footsteps and that amber gaze that curiously took him in from his muddy boots to the pink horse hanging off his backpack until the stranger let his eyes linger on that young face that currently enjoyed the soft caress of the sunlight.

The man behind Jaskier awkwardly shifted from one leg to the other, but the brunet was still swimming in the warm feeling on his skin, absolutely oblivious of how he was observed by those golden eyes.

The man cleared his throat, and at that moment, Jaskier’s soul left his body.

“Fuckin’ hell!” The brunet yelped and turned around to meet the stranger behind him. “You gave me a heart-” Jaskier swallowed his tongue.

Good Gods above.

“-attack.”

Jaskier was sure his mouth was hanging wide open because he could hear the wind blowing inside his head. He never truly understood the word gobsmacked until this very moment. His teeth clang together as he pressed his lips in a tight line as his jaw clenched.

The man was nothing like he imagined. Nothing like he would even dare to imagine. Not even in his darkest fantasies when he let his deepest desires bloom and come to the surface. Yet now, Jaskier knew that this man was everything he couldn’t describe until now, and he was stunned.

The stranger was just simply perfect. This level of beauty should be limited to fictional characters and paintings. It wasn’t fair. Jaskier blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t just hallucinating. He wasn’t.

The man was surreal.

And Jaskier was blatantly staring at him. He couldn’t help it. It was like discovering a new colour. Or finding out the meaning of life. Everything in that second made sense. Like if every choice he made in his life was leading him here to this man, who was now glaring at him. Jaskier couldn’t blame him. He was making a fool of himself as he practically ate up the other. Leather boots and all. Yum yum.

The man was tall. Just like Jaskier, maybe a few inches taller than the brunet, just enough to feel like the other was towering above him. He was deliciously broad as well. Where Jaskier was elegantly slim and gracefully slender, the man was ridiculously _thick_.

Those dark jeans that were just the right amount of ripped by the knees were hugging those thighs like it was painted on the man. His plaid printed flannel shirt was tucked into the waist, and Jaskier was sure it would have looked terrible on anyone else, but this person was pulling it off. He looked like a fucking model getting ready for a runway, and holy hell, Jaskier wanted to climb under this man like he was fixing a car.

The stranger’s awfully flush lips moved, and somewhat the brunet registered that the man was talking to him.

“Sorry, what was that?” Jaskier asked back, and with a flick of his wrist, he ran his fingers through his brown locks smoothly and put on his most charming grin. The one that got him out of trouble way too many times. The one that was just a tad bit cheeky and a wee bit pompous.

“I asked how can I help?” The man’s voice was wickedly low and raspy. It did the trick, and Jaskier found his oh so famous mischief alongside with his confidence.

“Well, immediately, I can think of many, many things, but for now, I’m only here to see my horse.” Jaskier chirped and let his eyes wander on the man and see how he stopped rubbing together his slightly dusty hands. The brunet saw how he raised one single silver eyebrow as his scowl disappeared from his face.

“Your horse?” The man asked with disbelief because the young man who was now smiling at him like he just won the lottery was clearly not the type who would own a horse.

No. Geralt met many people who wanted to buy a horse as a status symbol. Or maybe it was a gift for their children’s birthday party. They were all pretentious, vile people in the man’s eyes. He denied the purchase from each and every one of them. These animals were here to heal, they were not for sale, yet people came here once or twice a week, looking for a cheap horse because frankly, a broken, abused animal can’t be as expensive as a healthy one, right?

Geralt despised them all, and this young man wasn’t any different.

“Oh, well, yes, you see, I was rather intoxicated the other day, and as I was watching the telly, and I thought-”

Geralt heard enough. He rolled his eyes, snorted, and turned on his heels.

“These animals are not for sale.” He grunted over his shoulder as he was already headed back to one of the stables. He had no time for this circus and for some rich, spoiled brat.

“What? Wait!” The young man needed a minute to realise that the owner of this farm was marching away rapidly, and as much as Jaskier appreciated those thigh jeans over that perfectly round bottom, the man was still walking away. “I’m not here to buy a horse.”

He shouted, and the silver-haired man stopped in his track. His long white locks were pulled into a high ponytail that was too loose to hold all the thick locks in place. Some strands fell over his face, and when the man turned back, he appeared to look through a gorgeous shiny grey curtain. It made those amber eyes gleam in an ungodly way. Jaskier had to lick his lips before he could talk.

“I adopted one.” He whispered, and that frown now turned into a sceptical grimace on that brilliantly sculpted face.

The gears in Geralt’s head were working fast. He connected the points between the abused horse that was transferred to his farm last night and the young brunet, with round, kind eyes standing there smiling softly in front of him.

_Fuck._

“A few days ago, I saw them on the news, and well, I was off my face, so I ended up adopting one.” The young man shrugged and pulled his backpack higher up on his surprisingly broad shoulders. Geralt’s eyes narrowed as he knew it very well what will come now.

“I’m not the one who does the paperwork. If you want a refund then-”

“Oh no, you misunderstood me.” Jaskier chuckled and tilted his head to the side, letting his hair bounce over his forehead. “I’m here to meet her… or him. It. The horse. I’m here to see the horse.” He babbled and watched as those yellow eyes widened in shock. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do here, to be honest. I never had a pet before, if we don’t count the hedgehog family I fed in our garden and my Tamagotchi who died after 6 days.” He confessed with a grin, and the man’s frown returned with an unimpressed little sneer on his lips.

“I will take care of her. You can leave now.” And with that, the man turned around once again and started to walk away. Jaskier was getting annoyed with staring at that lovely, toned back, and he called after the man with a harsh tone.

“Oi!” Jaskier ran until he was standing in front of the man pointing an angry, accusing finger at that chest he will later on dream about in the safety of his own bed. “Look, I may not know how to take care of a horse, or what I’m supposed to do now, or how to run a farm, but-but I’m here and now you… we didn’t really introduce ourselves, are we? I’m Jaskier.”

“Geralt.” Came the grunt, and Jaskier continued without missing a beat.

“Well then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Geralt, now tell me what I’m supposed to do here.”

The farmer’s lips tugged into a surprised smirk. Whoever this flamboyant plank was he had to admit that the boy had a heart.

“You adopted a horse while you were drunk?” Geralt asked, and the apples of those milky cheeks turned pink as the brunet blinked at him.

“Not my finest moment, I admit.”

“Hm.” The man hummed, and for a long second, they just stood there and stared at each other before Geralt nodded with his head and walked towards the small building that operated as a reception.

Five minutes later, Jaskier was richer with the knowledge of adopting a horse is rare even amongst posh people. Geralt told him that he doesn’t actually have to come here and do anything. He just has to pay for the food, equipment, and rehabilitation, and that most of the people who actually adopt a horse never really show up. They just send the checks each month.

That thought left a bitter taste in Jaskier’s mouth. Wasn’t this experience all about building a bond with a scarred soul and guiding them through the pain? Geralt said for most of the people, it is all about clout. It was just an Instagram post where they can show the world how compassionate they were, but when it came to hard work and actually being there for these animals, Geralt was left alone. He liked it that way, though. He admired the silence and the loneliness that came with the job.

People were not his cup of tea. Mainly because he preferred coffee.

And the brunet made him uneasy. His skin was itching as those ocean-blue eyes studied his face while he talked. Well, more like grumbled. But it seemingly didn’t matter because the young man was grinning at him while Geralt explained that he _really_ didn’t need to be here. Or visit. Ever.

It wasn’t the silver-haired man’s first mistreated animal. On this farm, he had horses from all over the country. Some of them were starved. Some of them were saved from illegal slaughter-houses. Some of them were left here because they were too old. Too old to entertain humans. Too old to have a value.

It made him sick in his stomach.

And deep down, he knew that it won’t be any different with this enthusiastic young man either. Even if he now was staring at him with bright eyes and a smirk, Geralt knew it will all fade. The brunet will come here maybe once or a few more times, then there will be a phone call or perhaps a text message, saying he is too busy and can’t make it, then it would be just the checks arriving.

It was fine. Geralt long lost his hope in humanity, and it won’t crawl back because of this boy. It didn’t matter.

“You can set up a standing order, so you don’t have to remember the date in every month.” Geralt mumbled as he showed some papers and bank statements to the brunet, who fell terribly silent.

_Fucking hell._

Jaskier kept counting the digits. Gods. It was way more than what he could afford. He felt cold sweat running down on the line of his spine. Geralt’s raspy voice sounded like it was coming from too far away to be comprehensible. The brunet shook his head and looked at the man.

“Sorry, what was that?” He asked with a hesitant smile, and for a moment, Geralt just frowned at him before he opened his mouth.

“I asked if you want to see her?”

For a moment, Jaskier was thinking about who is _her_? The confusion was weighty on his face, judging by how Geralt’s scowl softened, and maybe he even let a small smile play on his lips.

“Your horse. Her name is Roach.”

Roach was a chestnut brown mare with a white spot on her snout and forehead. Jaskier let out a gasp when he saw her. The horse was slim. Malnourished even. He could feel the anger grabbing his throat, making it hard to swallow or say anything. Geralt was quiet as he walked to Roach. The horse neighed and turned away. Clearly, she was terrified of humans after the abuse she went through.

“Is she… I mean… will she be alright?” Jaskier whispered and watched as the man slowly approached the mare and let her sniff his hand.

“Hm. With time.” Geralt was now gently stroking the animal’s long neck. Her fur was dirty. Mud stuck into her long and tangled mane. Her legs and hooves were absolutely filthy and neglected. Her back, where the saddle would go, was wounded as if someone would rub Roach there with sandpaper. It made Jaskier gag.

“Excuse me for a moment.” He mumbled and ran out of the stable. He needed fresh air. All he breathed in inside the barn was torment and hatred. He had to clear his head. He walked away a few metres and leaned against the fence.

How could someone hurt anyone… anything like that? And an animal to make it worst. An animal that loves you unconditionally, even if it only knows pain and suffering. Jaskier felt heavy tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t hear when Geralt came after him and watched the young man with a knowing look.

“The first one is never easy.”

Jaskier shivered at that voice. He quickly sniffled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, turning around to face the gorgeous farmer.

“No. It’s not that. I just…” The brunet babbled. He didn’t want to make the other think he was this soft and sentimental. Weak even.

“Most people cry when they first come here.”

“What about you?” Jaskier asked with a tiny smile and chuckled when the silver-haired man smirked and shook his head before he spoke.

“Maybe I will tell you one day.” He shrugged while golden and aquamarine eyes locked for a long minute.

Jaskier felt his heart trying to break through his ribcage before he remembered the devastating truth. He cannot afford this. Maybe if there would be an 8th day on the week just for him. And on that day, he could have a job that pays better than anything he ever had before. Maybe if he would find a generous sugar daddy… no, he was too annoying. No one would enjoy his company and even pay for that. Maybe he could sell some photos of himself? No. Even the idea made him quiver. Under all that smiling and pretended confidence, he was shy and second, triple and quadruple guessing himself at each given moment.

No.

Maybe he could sell an organ. Who needs two kidneys, anyway? What a ridiculous, rich-people luxury was that? Perhaps he could ask for a loan from his bank?

Geralt had seen that look before. The look when someone realises that they have made a huge mistake and now they tried to find their way out of it. Jaskier’s face was troubled with concern and guilt. The man felt the pang of disappointment in his chest, but honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised after all these years.

He saw the brunet’s lips open, and Geralt was ready for the apology. He was prepared to listen to the excuses. The list that the _young man didn’t know this is going to be so emotionally draining. He is not ready for this commitment. He just wanted to do some good, but now he doesn’t have the time._

Geralt heard it all. He folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. Here goes nothing.

“I will be honest with you. I am broke. I’m broker than broke, and I was so drunk, so ridiculously and stupidly drunk when I adopted her, I don’t even remember it happening.” Jaskier talked fast, and he was waving and stirring up the air around himself, and Geralt felt his glare turn into a surprised, aghast expression. “And it breaks my heart to think about what Roach has been through, and I’m sure I will cry myself to sleep tonight and every other night in the next few weeks. But I… I’m a uni student. I live off of instant noodles, microwaved food, and Adderall. I drink my Americano with energy drink instead of boiling water because I’m so exhausted all the time. My car is falling apart. I haven’t slept for more than four hours in two years, and I can’t afford a horse… I just… I…”

Jaskier’s voice cracked. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and looked at the man.

“I will be late with the checks. I won’t even try and tell you that I will set up a direct debit because my bank account is in minus. But I will pay for this even if I have to sell my arse. And let’s be honest. A lot of people would pay for this fine piece of meat, right?”

Geralt bit back his laugh and kept his face neutral.

“So bear with me. P-please. Until I figure out how to become a drug dealer or some kind of influencer.”

Well, Geralt was wrong. He never heard that one before.

Silence fell on them. Jaskier stared at the man, and Geralt looked back at the young, fidgeting, and deeply flushed youngster.

One day when the farmer will think back at this moment and try to find an explanation, he knows he will be confused. If anyone would put a gun to his head and demand him to answer, explain his actions, Geralt will bluntly tell them to pull the trigger because he did not know what possessed him then and there. He didn’t know from all the people who gave him some kind of speech before why he chose to make an exception with this annoying chatterbox.

But he was different.

Geralt couldn’t put his finger on it why, but something urged him to throw out his rules and convictions. Something told him that this time he can let go of his policy and make an exception. Maybe it was the way the brunet looked at him with those teary, cornflower-blue eyes. Maybe it was that blush on his milky cheeks. Maybe he just got soft. Maybe he became lonely and wanted company. It could be millions of things, but none of them truly justified what Geralt said next.

“How many times can you come here on a week?”

Jaskier blinked twice before he licked his upper lip and answered with a puzzled look.

“Well, probably once in the middle of the week. But only for a few hours and… I can spend nearly the whole Saturday and Sunday here. But if I get another job, I don’t think I will be able to come more than once a week or-”

Geralt didn’t let him finish. He already made up his mind, and he heard enough.

“Three days a week and forget about the payment.”

The way the brunet’s large eyes widened and his soft-looking lips parted was undeniably a good look on him.

“I beg your pardon?” He asked in a small, breathless voice and Geralt rolled his eyes with a grin.

“I need a hand. Come here three times a week. Help me out, and I will pay for Roach’s rehabilitation.” The man grunted in a low tone, and now the young man actually had to shake himself to make sure he wasn’t just dreaming. He closed his lips with an audible smack and stepped closer to the man.

“I don’t understand. Why would you do that? I-I mean… if you are not joking, then bloody hell you are saving my glorious arse big time, but I don’t get it.”

“As I said. I need some help more than I need your pocket money.”

Which was actually true. But it still didn’t explain it why would Geralt do this for this penniless university student.

“Are you serious?”

“Do I not look serious?”

“Well. Yes. But I’m afraid you always look like you are planning my murder. Not like I’m complaining. You know a lot of people are into this dark and mysterious aesthetics. And it totally suits you, Geralt.” The brunet grinned, and for a split second, the man thought about backing out of this deal. Let him pay.

But he wasn’t fast enough, and Jaskier’s mind was already far away.

“Should I buy some ‘farmer’ clothes? Like boots and plaids? Is that a requirement? Or can I still rock these trousers and look fabulous while I do this? Are you going to teach me how to drive a tractor because pulling up to my school in one of those bad boys would be just priceless? Can you ride a horse? Of course, you can. I mean, look at those thighs. I’m sure you could crush me with your legs, and what a way would that be to go.”

Geralt frowned with a horrified face as the young man jabbered and closed the distance between them. Jaskier swung his arm over the man’s shoulders and asked twelve questions per minute. Geralt shook that arm off and marched towards the stable with the skipping brunet behind him.

What has he done?

Jaskier was thrilled. He felt like he was floating, and even though he smelled like an old horse blanket, his feet were sore, and he was beyond dirty, he was grinning and singing along with his radio as he drove home.

Geralt helped him clean Roach. The horse was so frightened the night before when she arrived that the man had no time to wash her. It took some effort. Each time Jaskier tried to touch her, the mare twisted and turned out of his reach. Each time the young man’s heart shattered when he saw the terror in those large brown eyes. But Geralt didn’t give up. Neither did Jaskier.

The silver-haired man held the horse’s cheeks gently between his palms while Jaskier carefully brushed away the dust and dried mud out of Roach’s fur, just like how the man showed him how to do it. Geralt took care of the wounds on the mare’s back, and while he did so, the brunet bombarded him with questions.

He felt like he was interrogating the morose farmer, but after a while, Geralt started to talk more and more on that raspy voice of his that made the young student shudder.

Geralt lived alone and managed the farm by himself. He had a degree in veterinary medicine and zoology. He was thirty years old, and yes, he could ride a horse.

Jaskier also found out that when the man smiled, his whole face lit up, and his eyes were so bright in the sunlight, it took his breath away. He also realised that even though Geralt was built as a king-sized bed, he was unbelievable tender while he worked. Jaskier also found out that he could just sit there and watch the man work on Roach’s hooves for hours, and he loved every single second of it.

It was already late and getting dark when Geralt told him to drive home. Jaskier wanted to protest. His eyelids were heavy, and he was utterly worn out, but he wanted to stay. He wanted to watch the man scowl as he picked the small stones and dirt from Roach’s feet. He wanted to see that quick, soft smile Geralt gave Roach when she stayed still. Jaskier just wanted to be around this cranky man.

The man pushed him out of the ranch and closed the massive iron gate behind him.

When the brunet got out of the shower, and his skin was red from the heat and scrubbing, he fell into his bed like he was. Still dripping and wrapped in his towel. He stared at his cracked and peeling ceiling before he grabbed his phone and typed a message to Yennefer.

**“my life became a horse girl movie.”**

**“like a lindsay lohan one or the one where they go to war and die at the end?”**

**“a gay cowboy one”**

**“oh, dear. do you have a new crush?”**

**“cant help it. he is perfect”**

Jaskier let out a sigh and let his phone drop on his chest. He fell asleep at the speed of light. Dreaming about golden irises and a dangerously beautiful smile.

Days became weeks. Weeks became months, and Jaskier’s childish little crush grew into a massive, so so so so stupid desire. There was no puppy love anymore. No. After the first visit to the farm, the brunet fell head over heels.

Three times a week became five. Jaskier found himself drive there even if he knew he only had a few spare minutes between his studies and his job. Each time he found out a little bit more about the white-haired man. Each time his heart swelled bigger and bigger with adoration. Each time he looked at Geralt, his skin prickled.

After the second week of visiting Roach, a storm caught him. Jaskier was drenched while he ran from his car to the small reception house. Geralt was already there, typing something on the computer behind the counter. He lifted those whiskey coloured eyes, took in the soaked brunet, and shook his head with a smile.

That day they had dinner together.

Geralt gave some dry clothes to the student while he threw the damp things into his dryer. He made tea for Jaskier and told him to sit down by the kitchen table. The brunet watched the man chop vegetables and sprinkle seasoning on the dishes. Geralt looked good in the kitchen.

It fit him. The small tea towel over his shoulder just added to this domestic scene, and Jaskier couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He sat there, chattered about his days and lectures while Geralt fried and boiled and prepared. They ate together and washed the dishes together. Side by side. Elbows bumping into each other. Heart beating in his throat.

The rain was still heavily and aggressively falling when they went to feed the horses. Geralt only owned one umbrella, and they barely fit under it together. Both of them got wet, but none of them seemed to mind it.

Roach started to put on some weight as well. Her ribs began to vanish. Her legs and torso started to form a healthy shape. Her fur grew back over her scars, and she was absolutely stunning.

Jaskier grew to love the other residents on the farm as well. After a few visits, he asked if Geralt could tell their stories, and the man did. With few words, he said so much. And Jaskier was drinking those words like if it was the finest wine on Earth.

Each horse had its history. Each of them had their little quirks and favourites, and Geralt knew all of them. The man not only took care of these animals, but he gave them love. He cared for them, and as silly as it sounded, Geralt was their friend.

A few weeks later, having dinner together became a routine. The silver-haired man slowly started to teach Jaskier more than just how to help out on a farm. The young man was eager to learn anything the man was willing to show him.

He learned about PTSD among horses and how Geralt could treat them with various methods. He could assemble reins and secure a saddle on a horse. He was getting better with his hands as well. One weekend, he helped the man fix one of his wagons, and he decided that Geralt, with grease smeared over his pale cheeks, was a force to reckon with.

Jaskier honestly tried to behave. He couldn’t help teasing the man every once in a while, but he never stepped over that imaginary line. Even if he was dying to do so.

They spent most of their days together. So close and as cliché as it sounded, yet so far. There was this gaping valley between them filled with the fact that Geralt was a straight male, who let this mess of a human being help him out because he felt sorry for him.

To the man, Jaskier was nothing but a volunteer. A young, bright-eyed, anxiety-filled university student who he cooked for and spent his weekends with.

And it was killing the brunet. Slowly but steadily.

He wanted more but was afraid to push. He needed answers but was afraid to ask.

Sometimes he felt those golden eyes linger on him, but when he looked at Geralt, the man was never facing him. Maybe he imagined things. Maybe he wanted it so deeply his brain decided to play this cruel game with him.

Jaskier was hopeless, and he felt terrible.

He felt ungrateful.

He found a friend, yet he wanted more than that.

He wanted to know if Geralt’s breakfasts are just as delicious as his dinners. He wanted to see how that unruly, wild silver hair looked like when the man woke up. He wanted to wrap his arms around Geralt’s waist and press his head between his shoulder blades. He wanted to grip that ugly, flannel, plaid printed button-up shirt and smooth his palms over that flat stomach. He wanted to place a kiss on that collarbone that was always showing. He… wanted.

Months after his first visit, Jaskier was in agony, and the people around him could see it. Even Geralt picked up on his foul mood. The man asked over and over again if he feels alright? If he wanted to go home? If he wanted to just skip that day or week and come back when he is better.

And Jaskier wanted to hold that stupidly handsome face and shout at him. He wanted the opposite. He wanted to stay and never leave. He wanted to go to his classes from the farm. He wanted to come back to the ranch with the groceries and place it into Geralt’s fridge. _Their_ fridge. He wanted to leave his toothbrush in that cup on the sink. He wanted to wake up with his head on that broad chest, and he was acting like a twat but couldn’t help it.

He hated himself because he fell for this heterosexual farmer who wore high-waisted trousers and leather boots and looked absolutely ridiculous, but Jaskier loved him with his whole being.

Yennefer, of course, told him many times to do himself a favour and never go back to that ranch. She begged Jaskier after the brunet called her crying in his car just hundreds of metres away from the farm to forget about the man. Jaskier knew she was right. He was far too deep in this, and he couldn’t just accept the fact that they will never be more than friends.

He let that thought torture him for weeks.

Every day he drove to the farm. Smiled, joked, shamelessly flirted with the man, and told himself that he will never come back. He told himself that he will call Geralt and say that something came up and can’t do this anymore.

But he never did.

The clownery.

He drove there. He watched the man give him that soft smile when he greeted him. He heard his own heart shatter like a piece of porcelain dropped onto the floor.

He let the man hold his hand as Geralt showed him how to tend wounds on the horses, and Jaskier felt the touch hours after the man let go of him.

He was weak, and he just told himself _one more day_ over and over. Until that last day came.

Jaskier was sitting in Geralt’s tidy kitchen. The whole house smelled so sweet and enticing. The room was warm as the oven radiated heat when the brunet walked in and blinked at the man. He had never seen Geralt bake before. Cooking. Yes. Roasting? Sure. But baking was something that seriously did damage to his heart.

So he sat down and stared as the man grabbed an oven mitt. Jaskier swallowed because he wanted to tell Geralt to fuck him right now, there on the top of the hob, while he wears that bloody oven mitt.

He didn’t. He shook his head and propped his chin into his palm, admiring as the heat from the open oven painted those cheeks red and blew Geralt’s hair away from his face.

The man turned around and walked over to the table to place the baking tray on it. The sweet aroma slapped Jaskier across the face, and he felt his mouth water. He was already on his feet to grab two plates from the cupboards.

“Oh, blimey. This smells delicious.” He grinned at the man and rolled his eyes as he let out a loud moan. Geralt snorted and dropped the oven mitt on the counter. Shame.

“I remember you said you like scones.” Geralt mumbled from behind Jaskier, who needed a few seconds until he realised what the other just said.

The brunet froze. He felt the plates slip out of his grip and drop to the floor. The noise was thundering in his ears. He felt the pieces bounce against his legs, and he heard Geralt move closer.

“Jaskier?” His name on those lips was luscious poison, and it cut deeper into his soul. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and trembled.

He felt Geralt’s hesitant fingers touch his forearm, and he jerked away.

“I-I need to go.” He turned around and nearly shouted. Or maybe everything else was just too silent. That’s why he felt he is being loud.

Geralt’s beautiful eyes widened, and he looked so fucking confused it gripped Jaskier’s heart.

“What happened? Are you… hurt?” The man asked and looked over the brunet.

Yes. Jaskier was aching. Every cell and fibre of his body was sore from being in love with this man who was so perfect it was unfair. It was just cruel.

“No, I just… I’m sorry. I need to go. I can’t…” He couldn’t look at Geralt. He looked everywhere but at Geralt.

He saw the steaming scones on the baking tray. They looked ridiculously superb. All shaped the same, probably fluffy on the inside, and tasting like heaven.

Jaskier was sick. He needed to go, but Geralt was still standing between him and the door.

“Please, I just…”

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked again. His voice was so worried and pained it was hard to listen to it.

“Nothing. Everything. Fuck. Just, please. I can’t… I need to go. Please, I just can’t be-”

Jaskier couldn’t see Geralt. No. He shut his eyes and meant to keep them closed until he was far away. Even if it was impossible. His eyes were closed so he couldn’t see the pure fear on the man’s face. He couldn’t see how Geralt stepped closer.

He heard the broken pieces of the plate crunching under Geralt’s boots. He felt a palm sliding onto his face, a thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Jaskier felt soft, desperate lips press against his quivering mouth as the man kissed him.

The brunet opened his eyes and gasped. All the air left the room. All he found was Geralt.

The man moved back and quickly, probably he wasn’t even aware of doing it, licked his bottom lip.

Jaskier visibly shook and groaned.

“W-why would you do that?” He whimpered, and the farmer dropped his hand from where it laid on Jaskier’s cheek. The frown was back again, and Geralt cleared his throat.

“I panicked.” He admitted grittily, and Jaskier wanted to slap the man in front of him for the first time in his life.

“So, you kissed me?” He raised his voice and knit his eyebrows together while Geralt looked like a scared kitten. Fuck his adorable face. Jaskier was furious. “You cannot do that, Geralt! You… you can’t just kiss me because I’m gay, and that will make me stay and-”

“You are gay?” Geralt interrupted, and the words were stuck in the brunet’s mouth. The man’s shocked face was annoyingly stunning.

“W-what? Of course, I am! Look at me! I’m wearing five rings and pink jeans!” Jaskier cried, and the befuddled expression on Geralt’s face was now mixing with a pinch of anger.

“I don’t assume things.” He murmured, and Jaskier was now sure he will punch him. Or kiss him. Either of those two. “Why do you want to leave? Have I done or said something that upset you?”

Punch it is. With his mouth. Repeatedly. On those flushed and perfectly shaped pink lips. Jaskier will kiss him to death.

“Upset me? Geralt, I am so deeply and insanely in love with you I’m one breakdown away from tattooing your name on my perky arse and I tried to behave. Fuck. I tried to keep it locked away but here you are, baking me scones you fucker. I... I can’t… I-” Jaskier chuckled dryly as his tears started to fall in heavy droplets.

There it was. His confession hung between them, and it was so damn liberating and spine-chilling at the same time.

“Full name or just _Geralt_?” The man asked with a grin, and the brunet had to shook his head.

“What?”

“You’re such a fool, Jaskier!” Geralt whispered huskily, and the youngling reached his limit. He pushed the man away with a shove on that chest and snarled at him.

“Geralt, I’m serious!”

“So am I.” Geralt clapped back hastily and stepped again into Jaskier’s space. “Do I not look serious?” He smirked, and Jaskier let out a whimper.

This time he saw it coming because he moved to meet Geralt halfway. The brunet shivered when their lips met and all those months of yearning and lusting over the other came crashing down on him. He climbed and pulled. He bit Geralt’s lips and kissed them better. He tried to tug that fucking shirt up so he can touch the heated skin because he was shivering. He needed Geralt’s warmth, but the man pulled away again.

Jaskier groaned and blinked his ocean eyes open.

“Why are you doing this to me?” He breathed with so much hope and need it scared him. And then Geralt touched his face again. Brushed some hair away from his forehead. His thumb touched Jaskier’s pouting bottom lip before those fingers slid down on his throat and held his neck.

“Because I love you, you insufferable menace.” Those words fell on him like warm summer rain. And for a second, Jaskier was sure he just imagined the last five minutes, and he will wake up in his own cold, lonely bed at any moment.

But he didn’t.

“I never meant to let you in. Inside my life. Inside my heart. But you are so fucking persistent, Jaskier. You kept coming back, and I kept letting you in.” Geralt said in that brilliantly raw voice of his, and Jaskier was sure he will remember those words until the day he dies. Because he had now understood what pure happiness and joy meant.

“You love me?” He asked with a shy smile, and Geralt rolled his.

“I baked you scones. I made you raspberry jam because you said you don’t like the one in the shops.”

“I don’t. It’s too sweet.” The brunet mumbled, and the man just laughed at him. His smile was mesmerising.

“I know. You told me. You were talking about raspberry jam for two fucking hours, and I remember every single thing you said because I love your voice. And I love that you don’t make any sense until you do.” Jaskier giggled and earned a kiss on his forehead.

“You love me?” He asked again because he was a spoiled, needy brat, and he wanted to hear it again and again.

“I do.”

“Prove it.” He smirked and hooked two of his fingers into Geralt’s belt and pulled the man closer until they were touching.

“Should I get a tattoo with your name?” He raised an eyebrow, and now both of his arms were grabbing the kitchen counter next to Jaskier’s hips.

“Tempting. Maybe. That would be hot. But now I just want you.” He sing-songed, and finally, fucking finally, he ripped the shirt from where it was tugged into Geralt’s trousers.

“You have me.” The other whispered onto his lips before strong fingers dig into his sides and palms curved over his hipbones. Jaskier moaned into Geralt’s mouth and dragged his nails down on the man’s toned stomach.

“Then let me enjoy you, Geralt.”

And he did.

Gasps turned into groans. Geralt’s ugly plaid shirt was gone in mere seconds, and Jaskier needed a second to just _stare,_ because dear Gods, the man was devastatingly gorgeous.

Jaskier’s turtleneck was the next. Geralt pulled it over his head and immediately started to kiss each of his freckles on his shoulders, asking the young man why he never told him that he had freckles there.

Jaskier cackled. Loud and genuinely. He buried his fingers into silky, silver hair as it fell over him. Geralt hissed and lifted him up until Jaskier was sitting on the kitchen counter. His thighs were trembling around the man’s waist. Narrow ankles locked together behind Geralt as he pushed himself in between Jaskier’s legs.

He might have cried a little there because he felt so good. Geralt felt so fucking good pressing up against him. It was too much.

Jaskier knew he was talking nonsense. Babbling and repeating Geralt’s name, but he didn’t care. And the man seemed to enjoy him being vocal.

The farmer growled and hissed each time Jaskier clawed at him or bit his tender skin where his neck met his shoulder.

Their trousers were pushed down. Not entirely because they were too far gone, just out of the way for them to touch and feel.

And Jaskier was now really crying. He shivered when Geralt lifted him with one fucking hand to drag his underwear over that perky yet tattoo-free bottom.

The brunet kept begging. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he kept asking for it and Geralt, the mind-reader, gave it to him.

Calloused palms were touching and sliding across his skin everywhere. Jaskier was scorching. His whole body was on fire, and Geralt was that light breeze that kept him alive.

Jaskier screamed when the man finally wrapped his fingers around him. Around _them._ Because Geralt was right there, so close they shared breath, and each time the man’s strong hips buckled, Jaskier cried out and tried to move back against him.

They find their rhythm. It was hurried and erratic and sometimes clumsy, but it was theirs, and it was giving him more pleasure than anything else in his life before.

Geralt was hot against him and throbbing deliciously. It made Jaskier whine in a way he knew he will be so ashamed of later on. But at that moment, he didn’t care because Geralt kissed his cheeks. His chin. His eyelids. His bobbing adam’s apple. Everywhere he could.

He kept telling him how gorgeous he was. How he took his breath away when showed up drenched in rainwater on his porch. How he loves the stupid little pink plushie toy horse on his backpack. How much he loves that his ancient car creeks because he can hear him coming from miles away.

How much he loves his silly stories. How much he loves that Jaskier is a messy eater. How much he loves watching his slender fingers when they braid buttercups into Roach’s mane.

How much he loves him. And him only. With his bits and pieces.

They find release together. Of course, they did. They were perfect together, after all.

Geralt's fingers were shiny and shaking as he held them and let Jaskier ride it out with shallow trusts and silent moans.

Geralt rested his forehead on that freckled shoulder, and Jaskier buried his nose into those dishevelled white locks. It smelled like freshly baked scones.

The brunet giggled and felt the man smile into his skin. That gorgeous, grumpy man that he loved with his whole soul and bite mark covered body.

He owes Yennefer a thank you. After all, this was all her fault.

Jaskier grinned and let his body enjoy the afterglow of being loved until his belly rumbled, and Geralt moved away from him with a well-pleased look on his handsome, flushed face.

“Scones?

“Scones.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for this brilliant idea @Akikofuma
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this little something-something. Because I LOVED writing it!
> 
> Please leave a comment with your thoughts and have a brilliant day!
> 
> <3
> 
> twitter @doberainbow


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